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Menopause
Murders: Hostage
Book One in the Menopause
Murders series
Review
Excerpt
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Eleanor
Sullo's above average who-done-it, The Menopause
Murders: Hostage, has enough twisting intrigue
and bold suspense that you won't be able to put
this book down. Her unique multi-character presentation
is sometimes hard to follow, when all six main
characters are written in first person, however,
I found this exceptionally well crafted suspense,
told in an entertaining tongue-in-cheek humor,
well worth the effort.
By all means treat yourself. Get this book. It
will keep you laughing and rooting for this group
of ladies as they brave their fears, and boldly
strive to protect one another against the injustices
of the world.
Six menopausal ladies, and long time friends,
wearing gaudy accessories, set out to create a
club called "The Women on Fire." Before
they can even get their new organization off the
ground someone has the audacity to kill the gardener…and
slap this group of older ladies around…very
ungentlemanly. But who knew enough about Ada's
wealth to try to frighten her into handing over
all her money? And why? Yet, things get even stranger
than just a bumbling robber when these girls start
unearthing all the clues to who is really behind
this nefarious plot. These six long-time friends
are a force to be reckoned with when it comes
to dealing with the men in their lives.
I truly enjoyed this highly suspenseful plot.
It will keep you guessing all the way to the very
last page.
~ JoEllen Conger, Conger Book Reviews |
NEW
Review Excerpt
...This is a very entertaining mystery filled
with suspense and humor. The ladies of Women on
Fire are each unique and larger than life in their
own way. The twists and turns in the plot make
it hard to tell exactly who the good and bad guys
are, but in the end the reader will realize she
had all the clues all along.
I fell in love with this group of fifty somethings
who definitely prove that life does not end with
menopause.
~ Maura, Reviewer for
Coffee Time Romance & More |
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"Do
we, do we have coffee made, or, uh, something for dessert?"
I felt my initial panic in the car returning.
"Coffee later," Bernie Cascone said, his hand
on my shoulder, one finger tucked into the hemmed neckline
of my silk shirt. "…Let's have dessert right now."
The words had rushed out of him, breathy and hoarse, almost.
I felt my resolve to remain platonic with the detective
deconstructing. I turned in his arms as effortlessly as
if sliding from backstroke to crawl in deep water. I faced
him, rested my hands on his biceps. Nice, hard. A slight
stain of red sauce on his chin, his brown eyes glowing like
hot coals. So very human. And alive. I reached up around
his neck and he engulfed me.
"Should we, can we, mmm, close the deal?" I heard
his manly voice vibrate through my skull.
I tried to push the word out, "No," and realized
that all the while I was nodding, Yes," against the
press of his lips on my forehead, cheeks, and chin. We half-danced,
half-flew toward the other end of the apartment, still entwined.
As he began unbuttoning my blouse in the dimly lit bedroom
he gazed down at me with a guilty expression only half-hidden
by the warmth of passion on his face.
"Have to tell you something," he said. "I
lied."…Just when I got nervous, he told me the
truth.
"I didn't make the Osso Buco. My mother-in-law did,
and packed it for me to take home. She keeps saying I should
meet someone nice. I think I just did."
The bubble of laughter I felt welling up never got loose.
But as it rose and ballooned, it managed to bury my fear,
my tension, the last crumbs of my reluctance. As he pressed
me down gently on the bed, his lips on mine kept the bubble
trapped and jitterbugging inside me for a long, long time.
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